


mourn the living

by decibel_png



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Lovers to Friends, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, Post-Break Up, Post-Time Skip, betaed we survive like women, or rather a realistic ending?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 00:35:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28416225
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/decibel_png/pseuds/decibel_png
Summary: falling out of love hurts, but losing a friend is worse.~sarah barriosA story about a break-up and the healing that takes place after.
Relationships: Minor or Background Relationship(s), Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 12
Kudos: 34





	mourn the living

**Author's Note:**

> hello~ 
> 
> this is the first fic that i’ve ever written so i’d like to thank my wonderful betas [vicari_us](https://twitter.com/vicari_us) and [d_fenestrate](https://twitter.com/d_fenestrate) for supporting me through the process and [minty_frans](https://twitter.com/minty_frans) for being such a great enabler friend and giving me the courage to post this!
> 
> this fic was supposed to be under 1k words with an open ending, but after a couple of vc's with cal and minty screaming at me to at least give them closure, the word count quickly ran away from me. 
> 
> the fic is loosely inspired by the song "mourn the living" by Sarah Barrios and I'd recommend giving it a listen!
> 
> alright,, moving on to the fic, i hope you enjoy it as much as i did while writing it!

He doesn’t know how to do this anymore. How do you look into the eyes of a man you once loved and tear his whole world apart with just five words? He didn’t mean for this to happen. They were supposed to last forever. They had promised. 

But since you seldom get a say in matters of the heart, Kiyoomi steels his nerves and knocks on the door. 

No one was coming out of this unscathed.

* * *

A phone rings. 

It doesn’t go through, so Atsumu calls again. And again. Just one more time, he reasons.

This time it doesn’t go to voicemail.

“Fuck ‘Tsumu, d’ya know wha’time it is? This better be fuckin’ important else I—” A pause. “‘Tsumu? Ya there or what?”

He hiccups a bit in lieu of an answer, unsure how to respond. How do you tell your brother that the man you wanted to spend your whole life with just left you? It doesn’t seem like he has to though—‘Samu always knew him best.

“Did something happen with Kiyoomi? Ya alright?” Osamu asks, more alert than before.

“Yeah, I guess you could say that something happened with Sakusa.”

* * *

Atsumu learns that he’s blocked when he checks the MSBY group chat and their old messages no longer show up. It’s their off-season so there’s no need for them to be able to contact each other. It shouldn’t matter. It’s been weeks since he last talked to him, but it hurts to go from knowing everything about someone—or so Atsumu thought—to cutting off all communication with them. He's past the pain now, left with nothing but the remnants of longing and a trail of numbness in its wake.

After a couple of minutes of absent-minded consideration, he pushes himself up off of the couch and makes his way over to the kitchen. Pushing past the untouched assortment of teas, he reaches for his tub of instant coffee near the back. 

A tone reverberates through the silence of the apartment. Gripping the metal spoon a bit tighter now, he scans the apartment for any signs of an intruder. Before he could get to the living area, his phone chirps.

“You’ve reached Sakusa Kiyoomi. Sorry, I’m not available right now, please leave a—” 

_Crash_. There goes the spoon, now on the floor in a puddle of coffee. It goes without saying that Atsumu isn’t faring any better. 

Atsumu learns another thing that day: if someone has blocked you, your calls ring 3 times before going directly to voicemail. He’d like to say that he never makes use of his new discovery. His call logs filled with red streaks of calls that never go through say otherwise, though.

* * *

It's the first day back to practice. Sakusa arrives at the same time he always does, noting that Atsumu isn’t there early to stretch. While sitting in the splits, he pulls out his phone to check the group chat to see where everyone is. Something is off—where was the usual flood of messages? He waits a minute before realizing— _right_. He’d blocked Atsumu when they broke up as a form of self-perseveration. 

It’s been weeks since he had clicked that big red button, sealing away any notifications that he may or may not have received from the other. But, with the season starting up again, it isn’t unreasonable to think about unblocking him. Swallowing all the guilt that had been clouding his mind, he leans on his elbows and goes to his phone’s settings to unblock Atsumu. 

“Sakusa! Early as always,” greets Meian, heading over to the locker room. Sakusa nods in response and puts his phone down, leaning further into his split. 

Practice is starting soon. Atsumu isn’t here yet, but it shouldn’t matter. 

Not anymore. 

* * *

Atsumu sits outside of the gym for a good 20 minutes before he goes in. Of course it had slipped his mind that if he left his apartment at the same time that he always had, that it’d just be him and Sakusa at the gym. Even yet, the walk took longer than it usually would’ve, without Sakusa pestering him to walk faster for ‘god forbid if they didn’t arrive exactly 30 minutes earlier to stretch’.

He used to cherish those moments together, when the love that they had shared was bursting from the seams, when anyone privy to the shared smiles and poorly-concealed giggles undoubtedly felt the love and adoration that they held for each other, and when it was only them in the gym, filling the space with bright laughter, with Atsumu trying to get his Omi-Omi to smile as they stretched together. 

But now, if he could barely listen to Sakusa’s voicemail without crying, how would he react if it was just the two of them, with silence and unspoken apologies being the only things filling the empty spaces left behind? Not well, he decides. And so he sits on the benches outside of their gym, waiting for Meian, Bokuto, _anyone_ to show up.

It’s only 5 minutes after Meian enters the gym that Atsumu gets up. 

Sakusa must already be wrapping up his stretches, he reasons, given that practice is starting soon. 

He wonders if Sakusa is even thinking about him anymore—it’s unlikely, as they have other things to worry about now.

None of their history matters anymore.

* * *

They had been teammates first, lovers second. Always. _That_ hasn’t changed. 

They don’t let their lives outside of volleyball impact their playing—they’re better than that. Even then, between the ‘Omi-kun’ turned ‘Sakusa’ and the tamer Atsumu, the team picks up that something had happened during the off-season. Taking advantage of the space that their teammates give them, Sakusa excuses himself from the locker room earlier than usual, bidding farewell until their next practice.

Pulling his mask higher up his face in an attempt to fight the biting wind, the void in his chest expands, consuming him. Tears prick his eyes. He blames them on the wind along the route to his new apartment, one that hasn't been tainted by memories that only served as reminders of their failed love.

He’s pathetic. Who is he to be crying over their break up? He’s the one that fell out of love. He’s the one who took a good and loving relationship and smashed it to smithereens. They were wonderful—perfect, even. Just how broken is he if he couldn’t even sustain a relationship with someone as heartwarming and passionate as Atsumu?

Sakusa unlocks the doors to his apartment and begins his new routine. Swiftly trading shoes for the pair of slippers by the door instead of fighting his way into the apartment. Hanging his coat up on the hook on the left wall of his genkan, without needing to find a way to balance two jackets on to one hook. Scrubbing his hands clean, in silence, counting to 20 inside his head instead of listening to a shitty rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’. 

He finds himself trailing into his living room, burning a hole into his rug while scrolling through his contacts list. He needs to make a call.

“Hello?”

Sakusa cuts right to the chase. “How’s he doing?”

“How’d ya think he’s doin’?” A sigh. “He’s doin’ better and that’s all ya can hope for, ya know?”

“Osamu, I’m sor—”

“Look. Sakusa,” Osamu starts, his voice stern. “Ya can’t keep calling me. If ya really wanna know how he’s doin’ then call ‘im yerself, or better yet, don’t call anyone at all. Ya gotta give him time, after all, the first thing tha’cha did was _block_ him, ya know?”

“I’ve unblocked him today,” Sakusa mumbles back. 

Osamu lets out a forced chuckle.

“I still love him. I’m not _in_ _love_ with him anymore, but I still love him, Osamu. Fuck—falling out of love with him hurt, but losing him as a friend was so much worse. _So much_ worse, Osamu, I—I don’t know how to describe it. It’s like a part of me is still with him? And I’m just missing a chunk of myself and I want to be there for him. I want to be in his life again and—”

“Sakusa,” Osamu interjects. “As much as ‘Tsumu’ ‘n I used to believe that we had twin telepathy or sumthin, I don’t think any of this conversation'll get to him unless ya tell him yourself, alright? Let him know that you’ll be there, Sakusa. I’ve gotta get back ta work, the dinner rush is comin’ in. Bye.”

The line cuts.

He finally makes use of the couch in the room, sitting down and mulling over the contents of the conversation. Seeing Atsumu at practice again was the catalyst to this whole revelation, Sakusa thinks, putting his phone down beside him. He’s not so sure that “catalyst” is the correct word. Catalysts don’t often undergo any changes themselves and Atsumu is always adapting, changing—ever-evolving. He entertains that idea for a couple more seconds, before moving onto another, more familiar, train of thought. 

Having majored in physics at university, Sakusa believes that he’s 100% more qualified to talk about reactions in terms of Newton’s Third Law of Motion, rather than about catalysts in terms of chemical reactions. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction—a simplified version of a law on the mechanics of the universe, yes, but Sakusa thinks that it could be applied to matters of the heart too. Sakusa can’t help but to wonder—if he extends that olive branch, how would Miya Atsumu react?

His phone rings and Sakusa quickly picks it up, cutting off that train of thought. Miya, his phone had flashed.

“Osamu? Is everything alright?”

* * *

Atsumu crashes into the apartment, bag and coat thrown unceremoniously on the floor, pooling around him as he sobs. Seeing Kiyoomi after weeks of _nothing_ was a knife between his ribs. It took _so_ much more out of him to play to the standard that they always had.

Picking himself up, he heads towards the living room to plop himself into the nest of blankets left on his couch, resorting to what he has been doing for the past few weeks whenever he misses Sakusa—calling him. He knows that it’ll go to voicemail, but just hearing his voice being directed at him was enough. Slightly masochistic of him, he knows, but what’s a little pain?

_Ring… ring… ring… ring…_ Wait, that’s four rings. Why wasn’t it going to voicemail?

“Osamu? Is everything alright? You said that the dinner rush was starting...” Atsumu freezes. This is decidedly _not_ Sakusa’s voicemail.

How did this happen? He was blocked, wasn’t he? Was he unblocked? He must have been, for the call to go through. Although, that raised the question of why Sakusa unblocked him in the first place. Why did Sakusa expect Osamu to be the one at the other end of the line?

“Osamu? You there?” A curse, spoken in a softer voice than before, follows. And then, “Hey, Atsumu? This is Atsumu, right?”

“Why were you expecting a call from Osamu?” They were always blunt with each other, no beating around the bush. At least that hadn’t changed about them.

“I—I’ve been calling him to check up on how you’re doing.” Sakusa pauses, swallowing the lump in his throat before continuing. “I won’t be calling him anymore though, Atsumu. I was actually planning on letting you know after practice, but I’ve thought about it and I want to be friends again.”

Atsumu scoffs in return. “That’s fuckin’ rich of ya Sakusa. Yer the one who blocked me, weren’t ‘cha?”

Sakusa responds in a quiet voice. Too quiet. “I’m sorry Atsumu, I—I really am. If I could re-do everything, rewrite our story, I would in a heartbeat. You know that, don’t you? I blocked you because I was a _coward_. I wasn’t ready to face what I had caused and I _know_ it was a shitty act of self-preservation but just know that I’m here now. Whenever you’re ready, alright? It doesn’t have to be anytime soon, but I can wait. I’ll be here.”

Atsumu thinks that he can hear his heart cracking—a little more broken than before. “Sakusa I—I don’t think I can—”

“I know it’s fucking selfish of me to want this, but Atsumu, if you could ever forgive me, please let me in again. Both of us know that neither one of us had any ill-intentions going into that relationship and it sucks, it really fucking sucks that it ended how it did, but that’s just how it works ‘Tsumu. I don’t know about you, but—” Sakusa lets out a broken sigh. “When we promised forever, ‘Tsumu, I meant it. Granted, I might not be in love with you anymore, but part of me will always love you. It’s cheesy as fuck but I’ll be here for you okay? Just let me know if you’re ever ready. Bye Atsumu.”

Atsumu unwraps himself from the blankets, phone still raised to his ear, as if he stayed on call, listening to the silence for long enough, then he’d get an answer to the millions of questions running through his head. He thinks back fondly to the memories that they created together, wondering how he’d let years’ worth of experiences be tainted by the bitterness of one conversation. 

He doesn’t want that—doesn’t want that to be the end of their story together.

You can’t mourn the living. And if Atsumu’s come to realize that their relationship isn’t over yet—that there was still something worth saving between the both of them—well, it looks like his call logs are going to be filled with names painted in white again.

* * *

_The team was out celebrating another victory at a new up-and-coming restaurant. There was a constant thrum of voices spilling out of the izakaya, but a particular table for eight seemed to be caught up in their own world._

_“BOKKUN! RACE YA TA SEE WHO’S FASTER AT EATING AN ONIGIRI!”_

_“‘TSUM-TSUM IT AIN’T FAIR THAT YOU GOT A HEAD START!! I’LL STILL BEAT YO—”_

_“Bokuto-san! Shouldn’t you be focusing on eating the onigiri instead of talking?” chirped Hinata._

_“YES! MY DISCIPLE! YOU HAVE A VERY GOOD POINT, I SHAL—”_

_“DONE!” called Atsumu, sticking his tongue out in an effort to prove that all of his onigiri was in fact, in his stomach. Well, most of it._

_Kiyoomi pulled out his phone. He’d learned about 5 minutes into the first team gathering that he’d been dragged to, that if you wanted to get someone’s attention, you should probably just message them, instead of attempting to scream your vocal cords out trying to be heard over Bokuto’s incessant chatter._

_**To: ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ‘Tsumu *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧** _

_You’ve got a bit of rice on your cheek, you idiot_ (–‸ლ)

_**To: ‘Tsumu ✧**_

**** _And what did I say about changing your contact name on my phone? -_-_

_Amidst the cries of Hinata trying to cheer Bokuto up and Meian trying to prevent a full-blown eating contest, he looked up to see ‘Tsumu's reaction. He was met with the sight of his boyfriend chuckling at his phone, his face now clear of any stray pieces of rice._

_He was happy. Life was good._

* * *

The izakaya that they’ve become regulars at have installed a bell at the door. Bokuto can hear a gentle chime, cutting through the blend of voices—a reminder of the constantly changing atmosphere. The team had just won the semi-finals qualifier round for the new season and he had insisted that this was a moment that needed celebrating.

The table for 8 had been taken when they arrived, the team now sitting at two tables for four that were pushed together. Not bound together, but working cohesively. Bokuto thinks that there's a metaphor in there somewhere, but doesn’t dwell on it too much. Keiji would be proud that he remembered what a metaphor was.

He’s getting a bit restless.“HEY ‘TSUM-TSUM! DO YOU WANNA RACE TO SEE WHO CA—” he pauses. 

Atsumu is smiling fondly at his phone, seemingly in a world where only he and his device existed. Bokuto wonders if he looks that in love when it’s Keiji texting him. It’d be better to not interrupt him right now, he thinks.

He looks happy, Bokuto muses, turning on his phone to call his Keiji.

* * *

The team didn’t need to drag Kiyoomi out to celebrate their wins anymore. He had long since deemed this izakaya’s cleaning standards to be acceptable, their staff is very accommodating to all of the requests that he had. 

The table for 8 that they usually sit at was occupied when they had arrived, so they were now sitting across two different tables pushed together. Everyone was caught up in different conversations, topics ranging anywhere from the most recent speculations on Twitter, to betting on how many sake’s it’ll take for Barnes to conk out. But there is a voice missing—one that speaks in kansai-ben, even when the owner of it hadn’t lived in Hyogo for the past five years—Atsumu’s voice.

Kiyoomi looks over to the other end of the tables, searching for the cause of the blond’s silence. He sees Atsumu chuckling down at his phone—a familiar sight—and smiles to himself at the glimpse of Atsumu’s quiet display of affection.

He’s no longer the one on the other side of that screen—the one receiving that love—but they both wouldn’t have it any other way. 

They’ve moved on together. They’re happy. Life is good.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> you can find me on twitter [@decibel_png](https://twitter.com/decibel_png)
> 
> comments and kudos appreciated~


End file.
